


Gentle Hands That Wove My Voice

by galexyhippie



Category: Glee
Genre: Glee - Freeform, Klaine, M/M, Nerd!Blaine, shy!Kurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galexyhippie/pseuds/galexyhippie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt enjoys the silence of an artistically introverted lifestyle. Though he never speaks and barely eats, he’s content with being alone. That is, until Blaine Anderson, the geekiest nerd Kurt has ever met, strolls into his life when it shatters to pieces. Somehow, this boy patches up the rough spots and carries Kurt to safety. Blaine is the one who helps Kurt find his voice again. With that and all they have in common interest, Kurt doesn’t like to admit that he’s in love with Blaine, until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentle Hands That Wove My Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic on Archive, so please give me feedback and tell me how you like it, or how you don't. Thanks for clicking on my story!

It was a nice day outside, all cloudy and wet. Fog had swooped low, misting the area with moist, smuggy air. That was Kurt’s definition of a “nice day”. He liked that kind of weather for two reasons.  
Number one was because it made sleeping easier- all of the rain pelting against the roof and the cold air that crept through his cracked window. He liked the cold; it made it nicer when warm blankets wrapped around his comfy frame.

Another reason for loving rainy days was because it gave him an authentic inspiration for art. He would feel even more compelled to draw, and the ideas were endless.

His dinner was getting cold as he picked and prodded at it with his fork. He looked up, chin resting on his hand, to see his father’s eyebrow raised.

“You need to eat, Kurt,” he told him, a stern, but gentle look appearing on his face.

“I’m full, though,” Kurt tried, knowing that it was a losing battle. Kurt rarely ate dinner. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to or that he didn’t love his father’s cooking. It was because he never really felt hungry. He drank exclusively coffee and tea all day long, trying soup or a package of grapes for lunch, and doing his best at dinner. He knew he needed to eat, but his stomach couldn’t hold so much.

“I don’t understand how you’re my son,” Burt shook his head, “I can’t go five minutes without wanting a piece of cheese or a cookie, and here you are, full from two mouthfuls of rice and one piece of broccoli.”

Kurt laughed slightly, downing another sip of his ice-water. Burt always knew how to take a dull situation and make his son laugh.

“School going good?” Burt broke a new silence. Kurt shrugged.

“It’s going well,” he responded, “Same old, same old.”

“Why don’t I ever hear about those friends? They’re welcome to come over anytime.”

“Ah, that,” Kurt said, confused, “Well, I’ll invite them as soon as I make them.”

Burt sighed, “You gotta put yourself out there. Nothing’ll happen if you don’t try.”

“Easier said than done,” Kurt retorted, “Besides, I’m fine being alone. I like it. Gives me reading time.”

Friends. What a gift to most.

Kurt always had trouble making friends. From kindergarten to eighth grade he had one friend, and one friend only. Her name was Iris and she was awesome. She loved all of the things Kurt loved. They drew pictures together, played with their stuffed animals, watched Disney movies, sung, danced, and even baked with their moms. Kurt loved Iris and Iris loved Kurt. When high school started, Iris moved to California with her dad. He owned a vineyard with his brother, so when her mom, Samantha went to jail for drug abuse, he regained custody over her. It was a sad, long, dreadful goodbye, and Kurt was not happy about it. That was the year his mom left him, too.

Elle Hummel was diagnosed with lung cancer twelve years before she passed. She knew she’d have to leave Kurt and his father eventually, so she tried to explain it to her son all of the time, in special ways.

“You see, Kurt,” she’d begin, holding little Kurt against her in bed, “Mommy’s time is almost up in this world. I call it the “yellow” world.”

“Why? Why do you call it that?” Kurt wondered.

“Well, when you’re in your mommy’s tummy, just before you’re born, you’re in a dark world. I call that the Black World. Then, you’re born into the Yellow World, where some good things occur, and some bad things occur.”

“What happens when you’re finished with the yellow world? Where are you gonna go, mommy?”

“I’m going to go to the White World, where everything’s bright and beautiful and only good things happen.”

“Can I come with you?”

“I’m afraid not, my love…”

She died when Kurt was thirteen, just before high school began. That’s what made it so difficult for Kurt. That and the obnoxious abuse from his peers. He found himself writing to Iris every month.

Iris,

I’m all alone here. Mum’s gone and dad’s distant. I hate school and school hates me.

I wish you were here with me. It would be nice to have my best friend by my side. I’m sure you’ll do amazing when you get back to school. I wish you well.

Good luck. I love you.

Forever your friend,

Kurt

Kurt never made friends again after Iris. He became more and more introverted by the second. The reason he didn’t appeal to others, he assumed, was because he never spoke. That wasn’t even understated. Kurt Hummel didn’t even talk to his teachers. He choked on his words every time he asked permission to even go to the bathroom or the nurse.

He did buy a dog. He was a big German Shepherd named Tybalt. His father and him looked around for dogs a year after Elle died. Burt knew that Kurt needed a companion.

School was enough to balance out joy, though. Every day was the same. No eye contact, no speaking, a few slushies, a few shoves, a few trips, a few hurtful sneers, a few dirty looks, then he could go home. Nothing more to it, really.

He sat alone at lunch everyday, not particularly minding it. It was quiet enough to read, or play angry birds, or sketch. He liked to eat alone, anyway. He hated it when people watched him eat. He kept his head down all day, feeling small and outcasted. Everyone seemed so comfortable. Everyone seemed to have someone by their side. Everyone but Kurt.

When he got home from an okay day at school his father was still at work. He left a note like he usually did when he ran late at the shop.

I’ll be home around nine. I left a meat pie in the oven if you’re hungry. Please don’t burn the house down. Dad.

Kurt smiled, amused by his father’s way with words.

He did bake the pie intending to eat some of it. He sat down in front of the TV while he ate, Giada At Home played out on the screen. Nights like that weren’t seldom at all. Burt liked to take extra shifts. Extra shifts meant extra money, and who couldn’t use a few extra bucks?

Kurt didn’t mind as much- he had Tybalt, who had been resting his head on Kurt’s feet. He was a large dog, so his body barely fit between the couch and the coffee table, but he seemed comfortable enough. Once half of the pie was gone and Giada switched to Barefoot Contessa, Kurt washed his plate and headed down to his room.

“This fag right here!”

A loud bang echoed as Kurt hit the wall. His shoulder hurt from the hands that were on him. He arm hurts from breaking his fall. His eyes hurt from being closed so tightly.

“Is priceless!”

He fell to the ground instantly. Everyone went about like nothing happened. Kurt cradled his arm to his chest. It was throbbing like mad, as if it was broken.He didn’t want to look at it to see.

He’s been thrown into dumpsters. He’s been tripped numerous times. He’s been shoved, a lot. He obtained many bruises from these events.

He never expected to break a bone. Ever. He always thought that it wouldn’t get that bad, but as he sat in the ER with his dad by his side, he felt differently. Especially considering the doctor’s words.

“You’ll need to wear an arm brace for six weeks. Now, it isn’t so bad that you’ll need a hard cast, but the brace is not to be toyed with.”

The thing was hideous. It took up half his arm, tan and stiff-feeling. It made him want to cry. He hated the thing.

His father was very concerned not believing his story too much.

“You mean to tell me,” he began, staring Kurt down, “that you fell down the stairs, got up, walked to the nurse with a broken arm, and no one noticed.”

“Yes,” Kurt replied,”That’s exactly what I told you and i meant it. I fell. I’m to blame.”

“Okay,” Burt gave up, taking his son’s word for it, “but if I ever hear that someone’s harming you, in any way, I will end them. That’s a promise.”

Kurt hugged his father close that night before he went to his room for some peace and quiet. He needed a little time to calm his nerves in the only way he knew how.

The blood made him feel in control of what happened to him.

Another scar, red and hidden. Two other scars, bleeding slightly. A feeling Kurt couldn’t explain, but it somehow got rid of the pain he felt inside. A hurt caused by people he should feel safe with. School shouldn’t be a place of fear. Life shouldn’t be a place of solemn terror. It shouldn’t, but for Kurt Hummel, it was, and that was his reason for doing what he did. No one had to know. Another control of his.

**Author's Note:**

> Anything?


End file.
